Damage
by Crystalline Green
Summary: A very late response to Castle's missing two months; because there was a time when he remembered, when he made a choice and would have been all too aware of what his unexplained absence would do to Kate.


_Don't lose your head_  
 _I know the damage has been done_  
 _I know that I was In the wrong_  
 _I should have told you_

 _Kosheen - 'Damage'_

* * *

Richard Castle scrubbed a dry hand over his face and his stubble caught and scraped against his palm like Velcro. A feeling once familiar, had become alien to his own touch. It had been a long time since he'd allowed the scruff to grow to such a length, not since those first few weeks after meeting Beckett. Then it had just been a habit, born of laziness following late nights and sleepless mornings - not to mention the consumption of far too much scotch - at a time when he had been lost in his own head. When he would try desperately to write, but the only words he could force onto the page were scarcely worth re-reading himself, let alone inflicting upon others.

He'd reached the point of near exhaustion over a week ago - that was a common connection with the man he'd been then, someone wearing himself dangerously thin – and missing Beckett had become a debilitating physical symptom. When he allows himself to dwell on how badly he misses her, most frequently when he's trying to catch a bit of sleep, his gut twists while his breath catches and his heart constricts painfully in his chest. At least the guy he was before had the advantage of being blissfully unaware of what he'd been missing through not having her in his life and that was a mercy he could never again experience.

Still he felt compelled to press on. Although the deeper he dug into this mess, the faster he was forced to keep shovelling, just to stop the walls from caving in on him. He just hoped he could dig himself out before he reached the inevitable point, when the structural integrity of this chasm of his own creation became terminally compromised. If that collapse happened he'd be buried alive and he knew that he would not only be condemning himself, but also ensuring a similar fate for Kate, at some point, after him. That thought alone was what had kept him working. But as he excavated this pit of lies and deception, his heart plummeted, preceding him. Each fact, each shred of dark truth he'd uncovered, only served to make the matter worse. The danger increasing exponentially, even for Kate, who - for the moment at least – remained totally uninvolved.

There he was _again_ , with the culpability for making a mess of Kate Beckett's life and once more, it was without her even being aware of the dangers he was inviting.

He'd been careful, but every move he made carried risk. Risk of discovery by those he was investigating. Risk of alerting Kate to his quest, of cluing her in to the existence of LokSat or worse still, of her ending up under the study of their microscope once again.

He knew from the second they'd 'invited' him to join them - still in his shiny dress shoes and tux - that she would search tirelessly for him. That his disappearance would devastate her. Yet he'd had no choice, the fucking CIA had come for him. For years he'd banded the name about in his theories, so much so that it had become a running joke, just another way to yank Beckett's chain, suggesting shadowy involvement whenever there was even the slightest possibility of a larger conspiracy at work behind one of their cases. He'd had fun with it, but the reality of dealing with _anything_ these people wanted to know about was gut-droppingly devastating. Though, never more so than it was in that moment.

There had been no need for them to run him off the road.

They pulled up smoothly beside him and soon wound the tinted window down and identified themselves flashing badges; almost unnecessarily as they looked every inch the stereotypical CIA unit, in their black suits and crisp white shirts, topped off with heavy black shades and ear pieces. He wonders now how much of that had been just for show, staged specially to appeal to his writer's instincts and natural curiosity, if so it had worked. He'd stopped voluntarily, not having the slightest clue what they wanted him for, or where his involvement with them would ultimately lead.

He'd jammed on his breaks and pulled over to the side of the road, his tires skidding and crunching on the dry brush littering the shoulder. The escalade coming to a stop directly behind his Merc. Castle eagerly hopped out of the car, his mind whirring with thoughts of what this could be about, his father perhaps; maybe he was gate crashing the ceremony.

Jenkins had stepped out from the passenger side, accompanied by two more agents emerging from the back. He introduced only himself, the other two guys stood unmoving behind him, shoulder to shoulder like Jenkins' personal guard. It was him who'd done all of the talking and even then he did not give much away. He only stated that it was a matter of national security and that Castle was required to go with them, that he would play a vital role in safeguarding the lives of hundreds of US citizens. Immediately he'd been hooked, trying to get more information out of them on the spot, in his excitement hardly giving a second thought to where he was supposed to be going at that very moment. "Will you help us Mr. Castle?" Jenkins had asked and he'd agreed without hesitation, the excitement of this this appealing to him immensely as prone as he was to promise of adventure; a man still viewing much of the world with childlike wonder and enthusiasm.

After that, they had set the wheels rolling before he understood fully what they required from him and certainly not the time frame they were operating in, or the impact that it would have on his family. Upon Kate.

The SUV had backed off, but following the words, "We're on," from Jenkins, the two of his men got into Castle's car and set off. Behind them the Escalade roared into action, closing fast, and was soon bearing down on the passenger side of his car. With a tortured squeal of shearing metal and the crack of fracturing plastic, the larger vehicle scraped viciously along the Benz's rear passenger quarter.

"Hey!" Castle yelped ineffectively, his brain yet to fully catch up with what he was seeing. Up ahead, his car came to a controlled stop, meanwhile the escalade continued, until it could turn ahead of it, then it was on its way back and driving past them at a lick. Castle turned stupidly to watch as it swept past, headed back the way he'd come not two minutes ago. "What the hell was that for?" he demanded.

Just up the road, the activity around his car slowed, the agents there standing back surveying the damage. Jenkins' attention remained on the action ahead, he nodded, in response to a silent question that Castle was not privy to then he gave the order, "Do it." Evidently the men had rigged his car and on the order, it was pushed off the road, gathering speed all the time as it rolled into the ditch at the roadside.

It was only as he watched his Mercedes careen down the embankment just before the bridge, that that Castle realised this was happening _now_ , that the wedding was off, that he'd be quite literally leaving Kate standing at the altar. But it was worse than that. With the staging of this scene, she would fear for his safety. She would chase this evidence trail - one they were deliberately and expertly scattering - and would not rest until she knew what had happened to him. Intuitively he knew that all they left behind would weave into a web of untruths, specifically designed for her to tangle herself in. He knew her, knew though her history with just such a scenario how far she would be prepared to go. Kate Beckett did not shy away, would not back down, she would charge headlong without fear – at least, none with regard for herself.

"Make sure the driver's side airbag deploys, then torch it," Jenkins said. "Leave a trail, then get to your vehicle." Then he turned away and surveyed the road behind them and with perfect timing a vehicle approached, this one a totally non-descript silver Ford Taurus, which came to a stop where his car had been. "We need to leave," Jenkins said. "The fire will attract attention."

Castle felt numb, his limbs deadened by shock. Jenkins took his arm, and shepherded him towards the back seat of the car, he crowded him, all but forcing him into the car.

"Wait, what about Beckett?" he managed as he flopped down gracelessly on the cool black leather of the rear seat. "She'll think…"

He was cut off sharply by the CIA man. "Mr. Castle please, there'll be time to discuss this later," he said, then shut Castle's door, a barrier of lightly tinted glass, aluminium and medium quality leather trim curtailing the objection almost before it began.

Jenkins clambered into the passenger seat and the moment his door was pulled shut, the car pulled away. By the time they passed the bridge - at what had become a crash site - the blaze had taken hold of the car and a chimney of black smoke had established itself, rising forebodingly on the warm, still air.

After that his anxiety built exponentially, but the men in the car remained stoic despite his questions and growing protests. "Time is of the essence Mr. Castle. We need to get you back to the city," was the only information Jenkins would commit to. "Once there you'll be briefed fully."

That might wash with some, but not with him, not today. His blood was pumping in his veins and he could feel his blood pressure rising with his anger, most notably where it pulsed painfully at his temples. He bridged his forehead with his left hand, massaging both sides of his head simultaneously with his fingers and thumb, fighting to calm himself rather than allowing himself to hulk up through stress and frustration. He fought to control his breathing, forcing the ragged rhythm to deepen and slow. Once he achieved and maintained something close to his normal repertory rate, he allowed himself to speak, but his voice was still shaky with tension and anger. "Look, I'm sure you're already fully aware of the fact, but today is my wedding day. Right now I should be preparing to meet my soon-to-be wife at the altar and she is going to be worried sick about me. I assume you've done your research into her too... But even if you think you do, let me assure you that you don't _know_ her. She won't just sit there and wonder what might have been. She will hunt, relentlessly, for an answer which makes sense to her." He has a flash then, of her at the crash site, coming face to face with the scene they left for her. He knows she will get there sooner than even these guys could possibly anticipate. "If you have, then you know this is the honest truth. She will come for me and she will not waste a minute in doing so."

Jenkins turned to him, twisting in his seat so that he and Castle were face to face, though his eyes were still obscured by the depth of his dark sunglasses. "That is exactly why it has to be this way Mr. Castle.

"She cannot follow you. Cannot know the truth of what it is we're going to ask you to do, or where we will require you to go. There is no time to set up an explanation that will make any sense to her, not one that is complete enough to explain your absence on this, the biggest day of her life."

The following two and a half hours were the longest of Castles life. They passed in silence, with only his thoughts and the worming of uncertainty for company.

His mind became consumed then and has been since, with worry for Kate. Imagining her likely response to that initial event and all the things she would have done to locate him during the time after that point. Since he had been lost to her.

Castle had long understood that Kate's greatest fear was of losing those she loves. It was the reason for the existence of those walls she'd been trying so hard to take down brick by brick, a process he was _supposed_ to be helping with.

But there he was, doing something he knew would drive her back to the person she had been, forcing a regression as she fought to find out what happened to him. She would refortify, she'd battle. It was the essence of Kate Beckett.

Not only was he prolonging that period of separation, but was doing so in full knowledge that by doing so he would be ripping her old, but still tender wounds open. That he would be condemning her to comprehensively undo all the hard-won progress she had made over the past six years. He knew her so well that he could see it running like a movie behind his closed eyelids. She would throw everything she had into her search for him.

At many points during his days and nights throughout those two months, he found himself wondering what she would be doing. He became consumed with worry over how much sleep might she have managed, knowing it would not be even nearly enough. He worried about how much weight would she have lost as she neglected herself to search for him. As she attempted to save him.

Kate Beckett, a woman without answers, without him, would not rest.

And it was Castle who was choosing that for her.

It was him who was further damaging a woman who'd been trying so hard to heal.

It was the thought that haunted him, the one that made the food in his stomach curdle and brought about the urge to vomit.

Forget the potential risk and consequences of Kate's hypothetical involvement in the search for LockSat. This is damage was very real and had already been done.

Shame burned in his soul for being the one to inflict it.

Castle made his decision. He didn't have the strength or courage to deal with this anymore. He realised that he started this side project without comprehending what he was truly getting involved in, or the potential for danger at every turn. It may have been the cowardly way out, but he just wanted it to end. He picked up his phone and placed the call.

"Jenkins, it's Castle. I need your help... Oh god, I need to forget." He pauses while the man on the line expresses his confusion. Castle runs his hand through his hair, tugging on the strands in frustration. "Yes, I know I already agreed to a memory wipe, but I need to forget _everything_. I don't want to be left with any memory, not a shred, of the time since we met.

"I want to forget right now."


End file.
